Dear Journal,
by Nico C-137
Summary: Doug's journal keeps his secrets well. (Doug/Roger)


**Disclaimer: I do not own Doug or any of the following characters.**

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**Chapter 1**

_Dear Journal,_

_I'm going to a party at Beebe's tonight. I don't really know what to expect, but I'm sure it'll be fun. I think my ride just got here, so I should probably get going. I can't wait to tell you all about my night!_

_\- Doug_

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Doug capped his pen, put away his precious journal, said goodbye to Porkchop, and tied up his shoes, as quickly as possible. He raced downstairs—skipping every other step—and out the front door, toward Patti's car. Connie was already in the passenger seat, though, so Doug climbed into the back. Once upon a time, he would've been giddy at the prospect of getting into a car, and going anywhere, with Patti Mayonnaise, but that was before they'd dated in junior high, and Doug eventually realized that his fantasies were more ideal than whatever reality they could've created. The butterflies in Doug's stomach had long-since died.

"We're going to pick up Skeeter," Patti said, glancing into the rear view mirror, at Doug.

"Okay." He fastened his seat belt, building with anticipation.

The ride to Skeeter's was quiet, save for the occasional exchange between Patti and Connie, but Skeeter filled the silence on the way to Beebe's. The party had already been raging a while, by the time they arrived, and Patti had to park at the end of an extensive line of cars alongside the road. As they approached Beebe's house, the volume of the hip-hop music increased; bass pumping through their bodies. Skeeter knocked loudly on the front door, which was answered by someone that Doug barely recognized from school. The boy ushered them inside, where it was loud and smokey and sweaty. Doug was separated from his friends, as they weaved through the crowded foyer. He surveyed the room, but didn't see them among the other partygoers; only slightly familiar faces. Repelled by the public display of affection to his right, Doug slowly backed away; accidentally bumping into someone. He apologized, as he stepped back, gaping a little at the sight of Roger Klotz, who was smirking at him in that suspicious way; like the redhead had some trick up his sleeve, though he had a much friendlier relationship with Doug, these days.

"Roger!" Doug gasped, silently reprimanding himself for how surprised he'd sounded.

"Hey, Funnie," Roger said, slinging his arm over Doug's shoulders. Doug watched as Roger took a large swig of beer, wondering if the latter enjoyed the taste, or just the mind-altering effects. "Where've you been?"

"I just got here," Doug replied. "Have you had many of those?"

"A few," Roger admitted, before polishing off his bottle. "Want one?"

"Oh, um... I don't know. How'd you even get them?"

"Willie's cousin, Jeff. He's the _man!_" Roger guided Doug through the horde of drunken teenagers, holding the front door open for the boy. They passed the smokers on the porch, and made their way down the driveway, toward Roger's old, beat-up truck.

"Where are we going?" Doug asked, assuming Roger planned to drive him somewhere.

"Just grabbing you a beer, Funnie," Roger said, hopping into the open trunk, and grabbing two drinks from the portable cooler, which he proceeded to use as a seat. He invited Doug to join him, motioning to a beanbag chair, and handed Doug one of the beers, before chugging his own. Doug stared questioningly at the bottle in his hand. He'd never had even a sip of alcohol. Hesitantly, he threw himself into the abyss of the unknown.

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After a couple drinks, Doug was starting to feel tipsy. He and Roger had been lying on a blanket in the back of the latter's truck, gazing up at the stars, which blurred through Doug's half-lidded eyes; a sloppy grin on his face. He'd never spent such causal time alone with his former bully. Averting his gaze from the stars, his eyes swept over Roger; from his red quiff to his Beatle boots; the leather jacket, skinny jeans, and everything else in between. This was Roger, in all his glory.

As though by a force of gravity, Doug felt himself being slowly pulled into Roger's orbit; lips colliding. Roger reflexively pulled back, as though he'd been electrocuted, and Doug flinched—expecting a punch to the face—but the redhead merely looked stunned; wide-eyed, and mouth slightly agape. Doug's face heated up instantly.

"There you are!" They flinched at the unexpected sound of Skeeter's voice. "We've been looking everywhere for you." He suddenly noticed the bottle in Doug's hand, and averted his attention to Roger. "Is Doug _drunk?_" Skeeter approached the two of them, appearing somewhere between angry and worried. "He can't go home like _that,_ man. His parents'll _flip._"

"I'm okay, Skeet," Doug assured his friend, hopping down from Roger's trunk.

"Are ya sure, buddy?"

"Yeah, my parents should be asleep by now, anyway. You know how they are..." He exchanged awkward eye contact with Roger. "See ya, Roger. Um, thank you for the beer..." Skeeter shot Roger a look of angry disapproval, as they turned to walk away.

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_Dear Journal,_

_I had a long (but good) night, and I'm a little drunk, so I'm heading to sleep. I'll write more in the morning. All I have to say for now, is that I may have feelings for Roger Klotz._

_\- Doug_


End file.
